Fall and Repeat
by Silvaer
Summary: And then he was falling. Again and again and again. Much like how I write this, him and this, again and again. Character death.


**Fall and Repeat**

He almost tripped entering the Great Hall, seeing a gaggle of red-heads crouched down low around something, Fleur crying in Bill's shoulder, Percy was gasping for air, Ron sort of hidden, and his dad with a hand placed comfortingly oh his mum's heaving and shaking frame, tears rolling down his own face.

Who was it? Who could it be that was causing his family such grief? He could see everyone, everyone but –

"No." He said aloud, moving to stand just behind Percy, who jumped at his presence and turned to look at George with a crazed look in his eyes.

"No!" and that was Percy, taking a step back from his younger brother, and George took his chance and slipped into the opening Percy had just created. He blinked, and in the background he vaguely heard his mother wailing jump in volume, but it was just a buzz in his ears.

It was Fred.

"Why is he on the floor?" he asked like a curious child, cocking his head to the right, ignoring Percy's moans and his mum's gasp at his words and his father closing his eyes slowly, wearily, mournfully, as if in great pain. "Why is he lying on the floor?" he repeated, before kneeling down to take a closer look at his brother. "Is that –" he started, seeing a smile on his twin's abnormally pale face, but also seeing seeping red blood matting the already rather red hair. "Is that blood?" he tried again – as the words felt like they were stuck in his throat – though he thought he already knew the answer.

But then it was like reality caught up with him and George sat back on his heels in shock as a spike of pain shot through him in his chest. A shaking hand rose to land by his heart, and he whispered, eyes wide, still child-like, "Why isn't he breathing?"

Nobody answered him, but he heard a sob again, faint in the rushing of his remaining ear.

"Why isn't he breathing?" Unlike a recorder, his voice was wavering, and the hand that was not on his chest moved to land on Fred's chest, where the heart should have been beating. Should have been. "He's so cold," George murmured, and raised his head to look around at the people surrounding him and his twin. "Why is he like this?" he asked, a note of hysteria in his voice. "Why can't I feel his heartbeat?"

"He's dead." Someone said shortly, though not unkindly. How else could someone break this kind of news, to anyone really, not just George?

The words took very long to penetrate the fog in George's mind, but when it did, he was already hyperventilating as his world swayed and crashed and he leaned for and –

And then he was falling.

And then he was falling falling, with no end and as he groped at empty air and emptiness of his mind and he was blind, everything was just void and black and he just couldn't see.

(Were his eyes shut tightly?)

There was nothing, nothing, nothing to hold onto, nothing to land on, nothing to comfort him in this endless fall to nowhere, through nothingness, and really, _why was he not dead yet?_

And he wanted it to stop, he wanted it to be over, but it was over, it was long over, and there was nothing he could do except stare at the glazed dead eyes of his reflection underneath him, because it was over and there was nothing and everything (but mostly nothing) left for him now, now that Fred was gone, – gone! – and it was only George, just George, Just George, justjustjustjust –

He wanted to cry at the faint smile of his dead twin's face, laugh at the smile on his dead (deaddeaddead) twin's face, but he only ended up making a sound between a cry and a laugh and a choke ('cause he was dying, too) as he fell forwards again towards Fred and there were warm, tight, familiar arms around his middle and his heart soared and then plummeted, because it was Mum, their lovely, old, wonderful Mum hugging him, crying loudly on him, and those arms were familiar and loved but they weren't the even more familiar warm and loving arms of Fred because Fred's arms lay still on the ground (like the rest of the body, but he tried valiantly to ignore that now), still cold on the ground (like a corpse's arms, something inside sneered) and Fred's arms would never, ever be around him again no matter how many times he hugged back and George would hug and cry and hug and cry and hug and cry but there would be no more Freddie hugs, no more Freddie anything, and –

Georgie was alone. Freddie had left him (behind, alive, breathing, broken) and George Fabian Weasley was completely, utterly alone for the first time in his wonderful (terrible) happy (miserable) laugh-inducing (tear-jerking) prankster (at Death, who got back at them) life.

* * *

><p>AN: This was written in two parts, the beginning and the end (divided by the first 'falling' line). The latter was written before (May 12) and the former on the 14th. I don't like the flow, but I like it. xD


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